In Love With Two
by ShriekingStars
Summary: "Illya was in love with two different people. He was in love with two different people, and he couldn't have either of them, because they're already together, and in love, and perfectly happy without him. It hurt." A Niles/MU/MU story. This does contain homosexual interactions, along with bisexual interactions. If either of these make you, as the reader, uncomfortable, do not read.


Illya was in love with two different people. He was in love with two different people, and he couldn't have either of them, because they're already together, and in love, and perfectly happy without him.

It hurt.

Illya's chest aches every time he catches a glimpse of her, or of him, or of them, together, smiling and laughing and being as in love as they can be, without him. He… he is so, so glad that they have each other, that they're happy, that they're content and in love but that doesn't mean he wants them any less and his desires make him sick because he's selfish. He bites and snaps at them because of the pain he feels, and it make himself sick because he's cruel and stupid and selfish, wanting them to look at him like they look at each other, wanting them to touch him, love him, want him. It's selfish and weak-minded, to desire the both of them so, lustful and confusing and wrong, so very wrong because he learned early on that he's a monster and his not to be loved, ever. To want even one person so is wrong, much less two of them , and the two of them being so happy together makes it even worse, but Illya can't stop the feelings building up inside of him, he can't stop the hateful, erotic dreams and his body's almost involuntary responses to his desire and their presence, he just… can't stop it. He can't control anything, and he thinks that's even more terrifying than these illicit feelings in the first place- the lack of control that comes with them. He can't stop thinking about them, he can't stop dreaming about them, they're in his head from sundown till sun up and he can't control himself anymore.

He can't sleep, he can hardly eat, but these aren't really new states of being for him, so he adapts. He continue to exist, and he puts measures in place to prevent himself from making a fool out of himself and a mockery of their relationship. He avoids the places they spend time together, he avoids them individually as much as he can, and when he does have to speak with them, it's always formal, stilted, distant and emotionless and awkward, but it's better than him gushing all over them and spilling his heart out. He watches them from afar, sick with envy and lighthearted because they're happy, they're laughing and smiling and happy and he loves them and wants them to be happy but… Sometimes he's selfish and disgusting and wishes he could be happy too. This goes on for… for months, forever, as long as he can remember and then some, he's sure, and he settles into a pattern, of sorts. Of watching, pining, dreaming, and watching again, always staying far enough away to not be noticed, always hanging around just out of sight, and he is disgusting and voyeuristic, listening in on their conversations, their laughter, feeding off their happiness, but he can't help it. Illya's sick, he knows that, but he can't help it, and the most he can do is stay out of sight, out of mind, as much as possible, and give them no clues to suspect him with.

…Which is why he's unsure how he ended up here, pinned to a wall, Myra's hands clenched tightly around his forearms, with her staring straight at him like she can see through him into his very soul. He's terrified, breathing too quickly to be healthy, but he knows she's probably caught him staring and he's in for what is definitely not going to be a very pleasant time.

"Illie," she murmurs, eyes boring into his, a crooked, predatory grin spreading across her face, "Illie, you- you haven't been very good, have you~"

"I- I'm afraid I have not the slightest clue what you mean, Myra," he replies, looking down, because down is better than her eyes, "Please, release me, you've caught me in a position that makes me really uncomfortable and I would appreciate it if you would let me go-"

"You've been staring," she interrupts, eyes narrowing, and he shuts his mouth, shivering at the intense, unreadable look she's focused on him, "You been staring at me and nillie."

"I have been doing nothing of the sort," Illya says, puffing himself up a bit, affecting an indignant tone, "Myra, you're being completely, irrationally paranoid-"

She snaps her teeth, right next to his ear, and he goes still, primal instinct forcing him into a state of panicked, frozen terror.

"Stupid, not blind. I can see you watching, all the time."

Suddenly, she pulls him off the wall and whirls him around, pushing him back, and he falls against something soft that supports his weight, arms wrapping around his chest.

"Yeah, you've been watching us for, like, ever."

Both of them. Illya's been cornered by both of them, and now Myra's looming over him in front and Niles' caging him from behind, and there's no escape. There's no way out, and his heart is racing in his chest and he can hardly get enough air, panting hard, still frozen.

"N-niles-"

Illya is completely, irrevocably fucked.

"Ill-ya," Myra sings out, her face mere inches from his, "Illyaaa, why are you staring at us?"

Illya shakes his head, trembling, overwhelmed because he is literally being sandwiched between the both of them and he's dizzy with it, dizzy with want and need and sick to his stomach because he is not supposed to feel like this, he is not supposed to feel-

"Illya!" she snaps, and his head flies up, until he's staring her straight in the face, her nose actually touching his, "I said, why are you staring?"

"I- I-"

"You- you- " she mocks, smirking, and he bites his lip, shaking with restraint and need.

"If I w- If I was watching you it was purely incidental, I assure you. I had no intentions of making either of you unco-"

Illya's cut off by lips, and then he couldn't breathe.

She's kissing him. Myra is holding his face in her hands and kissing him, calloused thumbs brushing over his cheeks, surprisingly gentle for all her earlier aggression, and he can't help but let out soft little noises into her mouth, especially when she pries his open and slips her tongue inside, tilting her head for more access. His hands find their way to the cloth of her shirt and he clutches it tightly, whimpering as he goes lightheaded.

When she pulls away, he's dazed, lips bitten and kiss-swollen, and she smirks at him again, licking her lips.

"I think I gotta idea why you were watching us, Illie."

She brings his face up, teeth shining.

"You liiiiiiike us, dont'cha."

Illya can't make a coherent sentence come out of his mouth- just small, stupid chirps and chirrs, eyes blinking rapidly because he still can't believe what just happened, happened. He- he can't. This must be another dream, he has to be dreaming, because there's no way Myra would kiss him, especially not like that.

"How was it, babe?"

"He's a good kisser. Warm. Tastes like peaches."

They talk over you like nothing just happened, but Niles' arms are still wrapped around his chest and he's still trapped between them, panting for air. Someone touches his chin, and his head is turned to the side, another set of lips pressing against his own, cool and soft and there's a tongue in his mouth and he can't do anything but cling, eyes fluttering shut because it's literally everything and nothing like he'd imagined.

He's kissing him. Niles has a hand under Illya's chin and he's kissing him, and this can't be real. They can't both be kissing him like this, this has to be a dream, or a prank, but his train of thought is derailed when his tongue slides through his parted lips, and he laps at his mouth like it's the best tasting thing in the world, leaving him breathless and dizzy.

"Wow, you're right. Even I can kinda taste it. Sweet."

Illya is handed over to Myra, pressed against her chest with his arms pinned, close enough to feel every minute twitch and tremble of her frame, and then Niles kisses him again with a bit more force, running his hands through his hair. It's intense, more feeling than he's ever felt before, and he's overwhelmed and desperate and suddenly sick to his stomach because this isn't right, he's not supposed to want this, he's not supposed to crave them.

When he separates from him, he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut, because this cannot be real, this can't.

"Shit… Illya, love, are you okay? Did we scare you?"

He shakes his head, mouth open, trying to force words out but none will come. He wants this so desperately to be real but at the same time he knows it isn't possible, he knows he can never truly have them, either of them, both of them, and this has to be his subconscious torturing him or the cruelest joke imaginable.

Illya doesn't think he could continue to exist, if this is a joke. He thinks he might just fade out of existence altogether.

"Please-" he manages, voice hoarse, "Please, what- what do you want from me, what-"

"You, stupid," Myra mumbles, her cheek pressing against the top of his head, "We saw you staring, always watching us like some sorta weirdo, always looked so sad. Decided we didn't want you to be a sad loser anymore, so we jumped you."

Niles kisses his cheek, soft and gentle, and smiles at him, all angles and straight lines to Myra's smooth curves.

"You've been watching us for a real long time, sweetheart, we just figured it was about time to do something about it already, yanno? We like you. Like, like like you."

Illya whimpers again, high and god he is so fucking pathetic but he wants them so bad, he needs them so badly he is willing to sell his very soul for a chance to be with them, and his entire being aches with sheer, agonizing desire.

"So we want you. And we want to be with you," Niles continues, brushing a strand of hair from his face, and how, how can he be so perfect?- "We want you to want us too, but it's okay if we, uhm, misread the signals we thought you were sending. We'll let you go and leave you alone-"

"No!"

Niles goes silent, just as startled as Illya is by the volume and vehemence of his cry.

"No, please I- this, I want- this I want you, please-"

He sounds drunk and desperate, but he can't say that's too far off from his state of being at the moment. Stringing together a coherent sentence is much harder than it should be; he feels like he's been kicked in the head, like his brain is muddled, nothing makes sense but he knows he wants this and he wants them, because even if this is a prank at least he'll have had a taste.

Niles touches him, shushes him softly with a gentle finger pressed against his lips, and he allows himself to be quieted. Myra shifts, one arm keeping his hands pinned to his chest, the other wrapping around his waist, keeping him pressed against her, and then she kisses him again, careful and light and chaste and he trembles, wanting so, so much more.

"He's shaking," Myra murmurs, arms tightening around him, protective and supportive rather than threatening, and she rests her head on his shoulder, rubbing her cheek against his.

"Breathe."

Illya's not sure which one says it, but he obeys, pulling in a ragged breath and allowing Myra to hold a bit more of his weight. Again, someone says it, and he obeys, a steady pattern, calming, mindless, and then someone kisses him again and he just closes his eyes and let it happen, taking the touch as offered.

Parting, again, pulls a small noise of discontent from him, but he settles quickly, panting to catch his breath.

"Well he's definitely quieter."

He makes another unhappy noise, and Myra sniggers, her chest shaking with the force of her laughter. Niles presses against him from the front, chiding her quietly, and Illya's being touched on all sides by one or the other, surrounded, and it's almost too much to take in.

"Just teasing," she says, kissing him on the cheek, biting at his ear with a playful growl, "Shh, just teasing, no more sad noises."

She holds Illya close, lips pressing against his cheek, his jaw, his neck, her sharp teeth brushing against his skin, and then her hips press against his backside and he can feel the squirming length of her hips, hot even through the barriers of both their clothing, and he can't help the little gasp that spills from his mouth.

Then Niles pushes fully against him as well, and his clothes's just as thin as hers. It takes literally every modicum of self control not to moan outright, and that course of action is swiftly thrown out the window as soon as they start kissing over his shoulder. Illya bites his lip to try and muffle his rather embarrassing noises, but it does little good, and his hands are still trapped against his chest, held there by one of Myra's arms.

"Think he likes it," she teases, and Niles turns Illya's head to her, and she kisses him next, the cherry flavor of her mouth dampened down by the cool, sweet mint of his, still lingering. He moans into the kiss, he's ashamed to admit- he can't help it, he's hazy, floating, intoxicated by taste and touch and kiss, drunk on them, and they know it, if the way Myra laughs into his mouth is any indication, or the way Niles settles his hands on his hips, grinning a sharp toothed grin.

"Peaches," she says, smacking her lips, "Taste like fucking peaches, that's delicious."

Illya should be embarrassed, babbling, defensive, but he is so out of it he can hardly bring himself to care. He feels… well, he feels, and that's enough to knock him for a loop. He's been so focused on not feeling for so long that giving in, giving up, is like being tossed into the ocean into the middle of a storm, without knowing how to swim. He's helpless, swamped by the ebb and flow of pleasure and emotion, and with the way they're touching him, grinding against him, any and all hope of regaining his mental capacity has been lost.

"You look so good like this, sweetheart," Niles croons, sliding his hands up under the fabric of Illya's shirt, fingertips running over his sides, and Illya lets out another moan, head falling back on Myra's shoulder. She swiftly takes the opportunity to attack his neck, peppering the skin with licks and bites, and he gasps as, despite his best efforts, his own cock hardens in his pants, rubbing against the rough material of his pants.

This is disgusting, this is wrong, but oh god, how can something so wonderful be so terrible? How can this be wrong when it's literally the best thing he's ever felt? Illya wants them so badly, and when Niles presses fully against him, he can't help but rock his hips, panting and whimpering high and desperate.

Illya's stamina is horrible, with how many times his touched or been touched- precisely zero, to be exact- and he's already completely lost to sensation, grinding against the thigh Myra presses between his legs mindlessly, back arching as much as possible in her tight grip. Niles lets out a moan, low and masculine, and presses up against him, kissing his forehead gently as he starts to slide the hem of his pants down, once by inch.

'Protest!' Illya's brain cries, 'Fight! Run!' but he can't make himself do anything but accept, submit, give himself over to the pleasure rocking his body even as his shirt disappears and hands skim over his bare chest, lingering over pale scars and remembered imperfections, small, brown freckles and patches of lighter skin like dappled sunlight against concrete.

"Pretty," Myra murmurs, carefully kissing his neck, teeth kept away from the thin skin, and "Beautiful," Niles agrees, his fingertips tracing little spirals all over the untouched flesh. He moans outright, voice loud in the silence, and they encourage it, rewarding him with more soft touches and praises, Myra nibbling on one ear, Niles pressing one cool hand against the bulge in his pants.

"How far do you wanna go, Illya?" he says, voice quiet, calm, how is he so calm, he can barely think straight, this can't be fair, "We're only gonna go as far as you want, okay? No pushing or anything, that's not okay. Right, babe?"

She nods, and Illya shudders, biting his lip hard.

"A-all of it," Illya gasps, grinding against Niles' hand, wanting more, wanting all, "E-everything you can give, everything you're willing to give me, I'll take it all, please-"

Niles kisses him quiet, keeps his touch light, and Myra is nearly cradling him now, instead of restraining, her arms wrapped around his chest, palms pressed flat over his racing heart. Illya can hardly breathe, with how bad he needs them, and he chokes out another desperate whimper, pressing his face into the crook of Myra's face.

"Please, please," he mumbles, arching his hips forward, panting, "Please, Niles, Myra, please-"

Illya ruts against Niles like an animal in heat and it's shameful, but he can't stop. He needs this so badly, he needs them so badly, that it's burning him up inside like a fever, and the only medicine he can take is them. The only cure is them, and he feels like he's going to die, without them. His need and dependence isn't healthy, nor is it right, or virtuous in any way, but he can't even begin to think of all the ways that this is wrong and horrible and filthy; he's too busy gasping and moaning and making high, embarrassing noises as Niles dips one cool hand into his pants and tangles his fingers around his dick. Illya's never felt anything like it before, never; he's never let another touch him in such a manner, not even his own hands, and it feels- oh god, it feels amazing, it feels like he's going to shiver and shatter into a thousand pieces, the pleasure is so strong, the force of it so great. Then Niles dips his fingers lower, brushes them against his entrance, and suddenly everything goes quiet. Illya opens his mouth, but no noise comes out; it's like his throat isn't capable of vocalizing anymore, like any expression of how he's currently feeling is too much for his alluvial body to express, so he's left gaping stupidly, mouth open, eyes wide, as he touches him. It's so good it almost hurts, he's so over sensitive he almost collapses, his legs going weak at the knees, but Myra keeps her grasp on him strong and supportive, and stops him from sliding to the floor. If not for her, he would have toppled, limbs like noodles, but she's a solid presence behind him, grounding ground, keeping him steady, and he's so grateful for that that he almost starts to cry. She murmurs things into his ear, and he can hardly understand her, but still, the sound of her voice is comforting even if he doesn't know what the words are. Niles' speaking to him too, slow and soft, telling him to relax, telling him how warm he is, how he can't wait to have him, so many other things that make his head spin, so he slams his eyes shut and just try to focus on breathing.

Passing out now would be a terrible idea, but his breath comes fast and shallow anyways, and the gentle contact on previously untouched portions of his anatomy are not helping his overexcitement. It's too much, too fast, but Illya can't ask him to stop, slow down, because he doesn't want this to end. He doesn't want either of them to draw away from him, stop touching him, not even for a second, because if they do he's not sure he could gather the courage to attempt this again. So he stays silent, unable to speak, unable to make a single sound, the breath drawn from his lungs as he slowly slips a finger inside him, and oh, oh, the cold against his insides, the coolness of him against his heat, the contrast is so startling and feels so good that his legs do give out, and Myra is left holding all of his weight. Her hands slip from his chest to his thighs and she lifts him up, spreading him open and keeping him there as his pants get shoved down around his knees and Niles stretches him with a second finger, the sting burning through his mind and his body and clearing his head a bit.

Illya's position is vulnerable, and his legs try to close automatically, but Myra shushes him, her voice soft in his ear, and keeps him spread wide, her arms hooked under his thighs to hold him steady as Niles works. He's not used to being so exposed, so defenseless, and it frightens him just as much as their actions arouse him, his heart is beating too-fast for a variety of reasons. Illya's suddenly aware of how open this area is, how unprotected, and he shivers, his freed hands reaching up to wrap around Myra's neck, hiding his face from the two of them and any passersby as it flames red.

She kisses one colorful ear, giggling softly, and Niles twists and wriggles his fingers, prompting a choked off, quiet noise of pleasure to spill from Illya's lips. His body arches, and Niles slips in a third, spreading them and stretching him further, and it burns and feels so, so good at the same time that he can't just sit still, he has to do something, so he presses his teeth to Myra's throat and bites, whimpering around his mouthful as he rocks Niles' hand into him, Niles' other hand pressing against his thigh, cool against Illya's overheated flesh. She moans, the sound vibrating against his teeth, and Niles leans forward to kiss her, his fingers pressing deeper into him. Listening to them, hearing the soft, slick slide of lips, knowing they're kissing above him and around him even as Niles rubs his fingers over the walls of his ass, makes him shiver and whine as his teeth sink in, jaw clenching as the pleasure washes over him in waves.

Illya's not too worried about breaking skin; his teeth are dull, and her flesh is thick. Of anything, she seems to enjoy the slight pain, grinding up against him and letting out a few harsh noises signifying her own pleasure. He lays back and just… exist, for a while, lost to the ebb and flow of feeling and gentle touches and soft kisses, until suddenly it's all gone, and there's something much hotter and slicker sliding up against him, and Niles has moved his face away from Myra's neck and is speaking to him, slow and kind.

"Are you ready, Illya?" he murmurs, and fuck, that thing pressing up against his entrance, it's his cock and he's actually going to fuck you.

Illya nods, frantically, and he leans in and touches his lips to his, kissing him deep and slow as he carefully pushes his way into him, his dick thicker around than his fingers and so, so much longer.

It burns, god it hurts, but Niles wraps his arms around Illya's neck and distracts him with kisses, and Myra licks and nibbles the tip of his ear, cooing to him softly as he adjusts. Niles waits patiently and soon enough, the pain numbs and the slight twitching of his cock is too much for Illya to handle. Illya's hands reach up and back, tangling with Myra's hair, and he whines, high and sharp and needy, body trembling as Niles begins to move.

The gentlest rock of Niles hips makes him cry out, the smallest thrash makes him cry, period, and he lets his head loll back against Myra's shoulder, eyes rolled back in their sockets as Niles speeds up, his hands wrapped around Illya hips as he twists his cock inside him. The noises that spill from his lips used to be words, but Illya's not sure what they are now; gibberish, unintelligible syllables that meant something at one point, but no longer. All Illya can manage to do is beg, and so he begs, pleading with him, with her, with the both of them for anything, everything. Myra grinds up against him from behind, the hot press of her clothed crotch rubbing over his ass and adding an extra layer of sensation to the mess of feelings he's already slogging through.

She moans into his ear, bites the tip of it as she ruts against him, a steady stream of praises and curse words dribbling from her own lips as saliva dribbles from his, a trail of drool marking a path down his cheek as Illya whimpers and whines and mewls, tears painting the rest of his face as he stare up at the sky, eyes glazed over with pleasure.

Everything feels so good Illya can hardly breathe, and he clutches at Myra's hair, panting for air as Niles presses close, his chest pushed against the skin of his chest, and it's too much, it's too much and he can't hand it as Niles' cock inside him, hitting points he never even knew existed, and he cries out, loud and long, as Illya spills all over himself and them, without anyone ever touching his dick. Niles keeps thrusting, rolling his hips into Illya slowly, drawing everything out almost painfully long, and his hit with another, smaller climax when he fills him up, his cum coating every inch of his inside. Illya chokes out a gasp, thighs trembling in Myra's grasp, and she whines and curses as she grinds against him hard, biting at his ear and throat as she lets out her own strangled cry, Niles' soft sigh of pleasure nearly covered by the almost pained sound.

Illya's loose, limp in his tight grasp, eyes heavy lidded as Niles lifts his head and looks over his face, pressing a soft kiss to his lips as he wipes away the mess.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" he asks, quiet and kind, perfect in every way, and Illya can't stop the stupid, stupid smile that spreads across his face or the way he let his head drop to Niles' collarbone, nuzzling his soft skin and purring loud enough to wake the dead.

Before today Illya wasn't even sure he was capable of making such a noise, but it seems he can, and so are the both of them because their answering purrs vibrate their chests and knock him even further into an exhausted sense of calm, of safety. Niles carefully draws out of him, but stays pressed close, his dick is tucked into his pants as he wraps his arms around both them, hugging tightly.

"I'll take that as a good thing, then," Niles chuckles, and Illya nods, letting his eyes drift shut as his held in their arms, the contact, the contentment more than he's felt in years.

Someone gets a towel from somewhere, and Niles softly cleans Illya up, tucking him back into his pants as Myra shifts him in her grip until she's cradling him to her chest like a child, his legs loosely wrapped around her waist, one of her arms under his ass and the other pressed against his back, her palm rubbing over the knobs of his spine. It's so comfortable, he's being held so lovingly, touched so gently, by them, and his heart aches so much that he begins to cry again, silently, breaths soft and hitched.

"Illie?" Myra asks, voice a bit frantic, and she shifts her weight from side to side, rocking Illya slightly as she coos and fusses, asking him what's wrong, if he's hurting, if they were too rough with him.

He shakes his head and press his ear to her chest, hearing the skip jump of her heartbeat, and, shakily, voice weak, he mumbles, "I love you."

They both stop in their tracks, Niles with his hand pressed right against the base of Illya's spine, Myra's weight still unevenly balanced on one foot, and, soft and raspy, he repeat himself.

"I love you," Illya says, and god, it feels so good, it's like he's lifting a thousand pound weight from his shoulders and tossing it to the side after a millennia, "I love you. I love you both, I've loved you for so long, I love you so much…"

A pause, and then they both begin to move again, Niles' fingers tracing soothing patterns over the muscles of Illya's lower back, Myra rocking, shifting from side to side, slow and calm.

"We love you too," Niles says, leaning forward to press a kiss to the back of Illya's neck, and Myra nods, mimicking him, her lips brushing against his forehead as she says, "Love you, Illie."

Illya's fingers, trembling and pleasure weakened as they are, reach up and tangle in the fabric of Myra's shirt and he clings, letting his breath slow down, letting his body relax as she holds him and Niles touches him, content in the knowledge that they care for him as well.

How can this be selfish if they love him too? How can this be wrong, if they feel the same way? The three of them can coexist. Illya doesn't have to be alone anymore. He can be with them, they love him, they said so, they love him…

Illya throws one hand out, and Niles laces his fingers with his, squeezing gently as they carry you away, where he laid down on something soft and sandwiched between the two of them, pressed against her warmth and his coolness, and Illya lets himself drift off, content in the knowledge that this… this is his. They are his. They are his, and he's are theirs, and he can finally be happy.


End file.
